Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood!
by Laziness Incarnate
Summary: Aside from witch-burning and head-chopping, Delita hasn't much to do once he ascends the throne of Ivalice. Fortunately, familiar others shall remedy his boredom. Watch out for senseless violence! [One-shot]


Disclaimer: If I owned Final Fantasy Tactics, I would be very Square.   
  
  
  
LIBERTÉ, ÉGALITÉ, FRATERNITÉ!  
  
(Outside Riovanes Castle, a huge, frothing mob is gathering 'round for the day's entertainment. Why, it's time for some guillotine-chopping fun! Yay! King Delita, resplendent in his shiny gold armour, is standing beside Monsieur Guillotine's instrument of doom.)  
  
DELITA: Ahem! Today is Sunday, the day of the Lord, so we have to do Godly things like read from the Bible and whack off the heads of heathens! Oui?  
  
CROWD: OUI!!  
  
DELITA: Good! So...who's our first contestant? Why, it's this witchy young lady here, Ovelia. Aren't we all glad?  
  
(The crowd begins to roar until some fool points out that the young witch is the queen and Delita's wife, besides. Delita signals and some guards haul the dissident voice away, but it's already too late.)  
  
CROWD: Hey! That IS the queen!  
  
DELITA: Well, yes, she WAS. But look! She's proven herself to be a witch! See here, she's got a carrot for a nose! And ugly, witchy robes on her ugly, witchy body!  
  
CROWD: GASP! You're right!  
  
PEASANT: But wait! Aren't we supposed to burn witches?  
  
DELITA: We could do that.  
  
OVELIA: Excuse me...I'd like a word in edgewise here.  
  
DELITA: Yes, my dear? What would you like your last words to be?  
  
OVELIA: DIE YOU MURDERING LYING SCUMBAG!!  
  
(With a witchy screech, Ovelia flings herself at Delita, a hidden knife popping out of her sleeve. She manages to stick him a good one, but her knife gets caught between the plates of his armour. Delita is not happy.)  
  
DELITA: Ooh, that smarts, you little witch! Guards!  
  
(Guards belatedly grab Ovelia.)  
  
DELITA: I'd kill you now with this knife, dearest, if it weren't stuck. ..so instead we'll have a good old-fashioned beheading. And what a coincidence, we have a guillotine right here.  
  
(The crowd, which had been silent and perturbed for a while now, breaks out into raucous cheers. This, they can understand. The guards force Ovelia's head into the guillotine.)  
  
OVELIA: I'd say something poignant, if I hadn't already wasted my last words on you. Jerk.  
  
DELITA: Mm-hm.  
  
(Delita pulls the rope himself. The guillotine's blade swooshes down in a most satisfying way.)  
  
CROWD: WHOO HOO!!!  
  
DELITA: Was that fun, folks? Did you enjoy that?  
  
CROWD: YEAH!!  
  
DELITA: Isn't this better than the old, yucky monarchy?  
  
CROWD: YEAH!!  
  
DELITA: And do you want more?  
  
CROWD: YEAH!!  
  
DELITA: All right then! Next vict--uh, I mean, Godless criminal.  
  
(The guards bring forth a very blond, very familiar boy. No, it's not Algus, sorry. He's dead. It's actually...)  
  
DELITA: ...Ramza? How did you get here?  
  
GUARD: This non-God-fearing individual was arrested for indecent exposure.  
  
RAMZA: I was wearing pants, I tell you, it just looked like I wasn't.  
  
DELITA: *sigh* Ramza, Ramza, Ramza, haven't I been telling you to keep away from my business? And to wear decent pants?  
  
RAMZA: But don't you see, Delita? I couldn't afford good pants because I gave all my money to the poor. I had to take these pitiful pants off a soldier I killed in my righteous but lamentable cause. *sniff*  
  
CROWD: Aww...poor Ramza...  
  
RAMZA: You should be doing the same thing, Delita! Instead of dressing up in that shiny gold armour and sitting on that shiny gold throne, you should deprive yourself or your riches so you can distribute the old monarchy's wealth to the people! (turns to the crowd) Don't you think this People's Republic deserves better than what this false king is giving you? Don't you think you should have your cake and eat it too, and not just, uh, bread?  
  
CROWD: Maybe, maybe.  
  
DELITA: (nervous) Uh...  
  
RAMZA: The TRUTH, I say! The TRUTH is what we seek!  
  
CROWD: That's right!  
  
DELITA: (getting really nervous) Can I, you know, say someth--  
  
RAMZA: And what about these ridiculous events every Sunday? What about these VILE and IMMORAL acts of inhumanity against your fellow man which your so-called king not only condones, but indeed instigates? Shall we not eliminate these senseless killings?  
  
(Suddenly, the crowd goes silent. They happen to like their weekly doses of senseless killing--in fact, it's the only thing they live (and die) for. Delita, sensing the mob's indecision, leaps up and seizes the chance to reassert himself.)  
  
DELITA: Don't listen to him, my people! Think about what he proposes! Sunday is our holy day, the day we honour our most holy Lord in the holiest of holy fashions. Very, very holy. And this...this HEATHEN suggests that we go against the mandate of God? Next thing you know he'll want you to *gasp* WORK on Sundays!  
  
CROWD: *gasp* NO!  
  
DELITA: Yes!  
  
RAMZA: I didn't say--  
  
DELITA: Furthermore, he's one of Larg's NOBLES!  
  
CROWD: BOO!!!  
  
DELITA: So what are we going to do with this heathen?  
  
CROWD: Same thing we do with witches!  
  
PEASANT: (frustrated) But we're supposed to burn witches! Not guillotine them!  
  
DELITA: Eh, it'll do. Guards!  
  
(The same thing happens to Ramza that happened to Ovelia.)  
  
DELITA: Wha ha ha!! It's good to be the king. Who's next on the list?  
  
(The guards drag out a dark-skinned man with a mowhawk and dressed like an astronomer.)  
  
GUARD: We found this one loitering outside the castle gates. Claims to be an encyclopedia salesman, but he doesn't look much like one, does he? So we arrested him.  
  
DELITA: Oh, you, whatsyurface. Orlan, is it?  
  
OLAN: It's Olan, actually.  
  
DELITA: Yeah, I remember you. You were hitting on Balmafula. What do you want now?  
  
OLAN: Why, merely to show all of you...this!  
  
(With superhuman speed, OLAN whips his hand into his sleeve and pulls out...a book.)  
  
DELITA: Ah, the power of the Word. You know you're only allowed to read one book, the Bible, on Sundays, oui?  
  
OLAN: Read the title enscribed on this tome, oh lost ones, read the letters born of the blood which spilled for thee. Read it, and stir up the ashes dispersed by this man's lies to the four corners of Ivalice. Read it, and reveal to yourself The Truth.  
  
CROWD: We can't read.  
  
GUARDS: Us neither.  
  
DELITA: *peers at book* 'Olan's Pre-Scripted Ultra-Dramatic Super-Cool Speeches About 'Truth'?  
  
OLAN: Er...wrong book. Hold on a second.  
  
(Alas, it is too late for Olan. As he once again reaches into his sleave, Delita sneakily signals the guards.)  
  
OLAN: Got it, the 'Durai Report'--hey, let go of me!  
  
DELITA: Olan Durai, you are under arrest for reading a book other than the Bible on Sunday. Very bad, you. You have the right to shut up, but other than that you have no rights. What do you think his sentence should be, peasants?  
  
CROWD: GUILLOTINE HIM!  
  
OLAN: Wait! Don't you see, my people? Your defender of the weak, your mighty king, who toppled the old monarchy--he is just the same as those oppressive rulers he brought down! He is merely the one who climbed to the top of the hill of bloodied bodies, the one who carries the most deceit and treachery in his heart! Do not allow his lies to fill your ears! Follow The Truth!  
  
DELITA: Well, even if some of those unmentionables were done, I'm a good king now, aren't I? I give you lots of culturally stimulating events and bring you all together with the Sunday afternoon entertainment I arrange, n'est-ce pas?  
  
CROWD: OUI!  
  
DELITA: I only did what I had to do, to clear out the royal bloat!  
  
OLAN: Definition of MACHIAVELLIANISM. See entry: DELITA.  
  
CROWD: Say what?  
  
DELITA: And now he's quoting some dead Italian guy! You are SO not kosher, Olan. Guards, if you please.  
  
OLAN: Wait wait wait! I can, um, do astrological readings for you! You know, zodiac signs and all that crap. I'll read your fortunes for all you nice people. Sunday entertainment, yeah?  
  
CROWD: Really?  
  
OLAN: Yes, really!  
  
DELITA: Na-uh, I'm not letting you pollute my people's collective brain with that zodiac garbage.  
  
OLAN: Oh? 'Zodiac garbage', you say? What do the people have to say about that? Perhaps your enobled king is hiding The Truth from your eyes again? Perhaps he blinds you with a veil of secrecy and lies meant to keep you good, honest people wallowing among the filth of the earth while he feasts upon the products of your good, honest work?  
  
CROWD: We're used to it.  
  
DELITA: Guards, grab the infidel and shut him up...permanently. Heh.  
  
OLAN: Always wanted to say that, huh?  
  
(The same thing happens to Olan that happened to Ramza.)  
  
DELITA: Ho ho! For all his predictions, the astronomer could not see his own demise!  
  
VOICE: My GOD, will you stop it with all the lame jokes?  
  
DELITA: Who's there? And don't take Ajora's name in vain, foolish mortal!  
  
(A blond head rises above the dark-haired throng of peasants. No, it's still not Algus.)  
  
MUSTADIO: I can say whatever I like about Ajora, thank you very much. I knew her...er, him, on a very personal basis.  
  
DELITA: Who the heaven are you, who would take the Lord's name in vain so cheekily?  
  
MUSTADIO: I was one of Ramza's group...you know, the guy who'd stand in the back and shoot the hell out of the bad guys? Secretly the strategist and all-around brains of the operation?  
  
DELITA: Can't say I recall. Buuut, since you've kindly admitted to following the heathen Ramza, and have taken God's name in vain not once, but twice, I'm afraid we'll have to...purify you. How would you like that, my people?  
  
CROWD: Huh?  
  
DELITA: I mean chop off his head messily.  
  
CROWD: Oh! We like that!  
  
MUSTADIO: Good Lord, you suck, Delita. Don't you have any sense of good showmanship? (turns to the crowd) Don't you think you deserve a better leader to show you some real carnage? Not just a handful of beheadings a day, but hundreds! This guy is keeping you away from your real Sunday FUN FUN!  
  
CROWD: GASP! BAD!  
  
MUSTADIO: Bad King indeed! What say we do something about him?  
  
DELITA: Now hold on a minute! I've been chopping off heads left and right and you say I've been preventing your FUN? I've been providing it!  
  
PEASANT: He's got a point.  
  
CROWD: Yeah, a point...  
  
MUSTADIO: A point, yes, but only on Sundays. What has he done for you on the other days of the week? Oppression and drudgery per usual. Work, work, work, no play, Monday to Saturday. Do you want to know what this country really needs?  
  
DELITA: Er...  
  
MUSTADIO: A war! A big, beautiful conquest of the rest of the continent. Then we'll have tons and tons of prisoners of war as guillotine fodder, and the rest can do our work for us so we have time for fun every day of the week!  
  
CROWD: Whoo hoo! War!  
  
DELITA: Wait, I thought you didn't want the death and destruction of war! I thought we could just let out our latent aggressions with weekly exhibitions of barbarity!  
  
MUSTADIO: Exhibitions? Wouldn't you prefer a more interactive form of entertaiment? Wouldn't you rather hold a sword and make those heads roll yourself?  
  
MERCHANT: Mm-hm! That will be very good for the weapons business!  
  
HOUSEWIFE: Yes, and it will get my lack-a-backbone son out of the house and out of my hair!  
  
MUSTADIO: Let us go then, shall we?  
  
(With a rabble-rousing roar, Mustadio leads the raging multitude out the city gates, through the wheat fields where they pick up a few pitchforks and torches, and into foreign lands to begin a big, beautiful, bloody war. Delita and his guard remain behind, gawking.)  
  
DELITA: Come back, you fools! Oh poopy.  
  
(Mustadio and the rabble suddenly reappear.)  
  
MUSTADIO: Oh yeah, almost forgot. Tell me, Delita, what justice was there in telling your people to eat dessert when they had no supper?  
  
DELITA: Hey. My desserts are very just.  
  
MUSTADIO: Exactly.  
  
(The same thing happens to Delita that happened to Olan, Ramza, and Ovelia.)  
  
HERE ENDS CHAPTER THE XXVIII OF THE HISTORY OF IVALICE: THE RISE AND FALL OF THE COMMONER KING DELITA HYRAL  
  
IN WHICH THE MOST UNLIKELY PERSON IMAGINABLE ASIDE FROM BOCO THE CHOCOBO LEADS IVALICE INTO ITS MOST BLOODY PROFITABLE WAR EVER  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Any and all resemblance to the French Revolution (and subsequent events) are so purely coincidental it's not even funny. Really, if I wanted to make such a connection I'd have to actually know a bit of history, and I'd have to understand what the hell was going on in with all that garbled political mumbo-jumbo in Final Fantasy Tactics. 


End file.
